I May Fall
by Polariswarrior
Summary: A collection of one-shots that relate to my other story "Red Like Roses." One-shots expand upon events that are glazed over in my other story and do not need to be read in order to understand the main story. Prompt 1: first time Harry met Sirius. Prompt 2: Harry's Yule Ball experience. I am open to prompts for future one-shots.
1. When Harry Met Sirius

Author's Note:

More information down at the bottom.

Prompt 1 of 2 from TheNorwegianAuthor: write about Harry meeting Sirius

* * *

The sun was setting over London, the sky burning orange, when Harry made her way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Rose Harriet "Harry" Potter was celebrating her thirteenth birthday – or had been celebrating it, since it was getting far too late on that July day.

It had started early hours of the morning when Harry had been working on her History of Magic assignment. Not realizing the date had transitioned from her friend Neville's birthday to her own, Harry was startled when her owl, Hedwig, and several other owls flew in through her window all with gifts attached to their legs.

Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Hagrid had all sent her gifts for her birthday, which had deeply touched Harry, who was still not used to receiving gifts from anyone – let alone her friends.

From Hagrid, Harry had received _The_ _Monster Book of Monsters_ which was a very appropriate name for a book that had tried to bite her hand off; she wasn't entirely sure why Hagrid had sent her the book, and all she could do with it was tie one of her belts around the green book to make sure it didn't go on a biting rampage.

From Ron, Harry had received a Pocket Sneakoscope – a magical item that detects when someone untrustworthy is around that looked suspiciously like a glass spinning top. It was a very practical gift considering how much trouble Harry and her friends got into.

Along with Ron's gift came his first review of his time in Egypt with the rest of his family. At the beginning of the summer, Harry had stayed with the Weasleys expecting to stay with them for the second summer in a row. When Mr. Weasley won the prize money from the Ministry, Harry couldn't have been happier for the Weasley family. But when their plans of traveling to Egypt to visit their oldest son, Bill, were going to be scrapped because they wouldn't have had enough money to bring Harry along with them, Harry quickly realized that she would have to convince the Weasleys that she would be fine being on her own for the rest of the summer.

It was a difficult task, and almost seemed impossible at first. When Harry had originally brought it up, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shot her idea down, not feeling comfortable leaving a twelve year old alone without adult supervision. But with Hermione and her parents vacationing in France for the summer, and Neville's grandmother refusing to take care of Harry (which Harry didn't mind – she and Neville's grandmother never got along anyway) it became apparent that there would be no one else willing to watch Harry.

Which is when Harry tried to tap into her 'Slytherin side' in order to persuade the Weasleys that she would be fine on her own, and that they really did deserve a family vacation without having to worry about her; a task she was only able to accomplish once she had Mr. Weasley on her side. Harry, Mr. Weasley, and his seven children were what it took to convince Mrs. Wealsey to let Harry stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer.

So the Weasleys dropped Harry off at the Cauldron before they left for Egypt, and Mrs. Weasley had a very stern conversation with the barkeeper, Tom, about how Harry was to behave while she stayed in one of the rooms at the inn. Harry didn't really listen to anything Mrs. Weasley said at that point because she knew that, as the person paying for her own room, Tom wouldn't mind what she did as long as she was able to pay.

Which she was able to – her father had left her enough money that she could stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of her life if she wanted.

Staying at the Leaky Cauldron was amazing; Harry had the same freedom she had while living on the streets but also had the security of knowing she would have food and a place to sleep every night – it was great. The fact that the Weasleys sounded like they were having a blast in Egypt without her made her stay at the Cauldron all the better.

After all, the Weasleys really did deserve all the happiness in the world. Ron having fun with his family was a pretty nice gift in itself – though the Sneakoscope was also really nice.

From Hermione, Harry had received a Broomstick Servicing Kit, which for the young seeker was one of the greatest gifts she could have ever gotten. The kit was a major departure from Hermione's usual gifts of books of some sort, and Harry couldn't have been happier with the change. She would have spent more time with Hermione's gift had it not been for the fact that Neville's gift had taken up most of her attention.

From Neville, Harry had received photographs of her parents. There weren't that many photos Neville had sent, but the quantity wasn't what Harry cared about. Neville had gifted her two photos: one of her mother and Neville's mother, Alice, with their stomachs bulging from pregnancy; and the other was of her father, Neville's father, Frank, and three other men at what appeared to be a party. Harry had never seen either photo before, not even from the photo album Hagrid had given her at the end of her first year.

Neville's card had explained how he had found the pictures while he was looking through his parent's old things, and he had felt that Harry needed the pictures more than he did. Harry had been extremely touched by Neville's gesture, and she felt guilty for only sending him a Chia Pet and a muggle book about poisonous plants for his thirteenth birthday.

A potted plant and a book seemed so much less personal than two pictures of their dead parents.

Harry had spent most of the early morning hours studying the photos before placing them, gingerly, into her album with the rest of the pictures she had of her parents. She slept with the album in her arms, her parents on her mind.

When she woke up, Harry ate breakfast down in the pub, smiling brightly when Tom brought out a free chocolate chip muffin for her birthday. Once she was done with eating, she went to Gringotts and changed some of her galleons for pounds, feeling like it was time she gave back to the community that had helped raise her while she lived on the streets before going to Hogwarts.

So she spent her day walking around London, donating a healthy amount of pounds to all the places she had claimed as sanctuary for four years of her life. Libraries, a couple food markets, homeless shelters that she hadn't stayed in but needed the money anyway, all received a very small donation from Harry. She was hesitant to give money to the people who begged on the street, knowing that many of them would benefit more through food than money, though she did end up giving to a few of them if only because she remembered them from her childhood.

When evening rolled around, Harry began her walk back to the Leaky Cauldron after her stomach alerted her to the time when it growled loud enough to jolt her out of her thoughts. She walked at a fast pace, eager for food and to break in her broomstick kit, though she slowed when she heard shouts coming from an alley she was walking past.

Stalling, Harry turned into the alley to investigate the commotion. She stood at the entrance to the alley and watched as four teenage boys – probably just a year or two older than her – were harassing a stray dog.

The dog was gigantic, growling deeply, hackles raised, backed into a corner, and looked simultaneously threatening and pathetic. It was shaggy, with black fur and gleaming eyes, and Harry felt her blood boil at how the dog was being treated by the boys who were dressed in jeans, backwards hats, baggy jackets, and carried sticks, rocks, and _knives_.

"OI ARSEHOLES! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" Harry yelled at them, storming over to the older boys as one of them pulled out a lighter.

"'Choo lookin' at you fuckin' cunt?" the one closest to Harry asked, a knife in his hand and a cigarette between his lips.

Harry wasted no time to answer his question; instead she pulled her right arm back and punched the boy right in his temple, causing him to collapse at her feet, his cigarette flying from his lips. Bending down, Harry yanked the knife from the boy's weak grasp, and held it in her left hand, the blade protruding from under her pinky instead of between her thumb and forefinger. She stood, fists raised and knife out, ready to punch the next idiotic boy in the face if she needed to.

"I'm lookin' at you lot, fuckers," she declared over the fallen boy, keeping her eye on his friends. The boy on the ground tried to get back up, and Harry gave him a swift kick to the groin in order to keep him down.

The grunt of pain from their fallen comrade spurred the other boys into action. The three started to approach Harry in flank formation, derogatory insults on their lips and a promise of retribution in their eyes. She could tell that they _thought _that they were intimidating, however Harry had faced a cerberus, a mountain troll, and had been petrified by a basilisk – Harry would be an idiot if she was intimidated by these pubescent arseholes.

Harry drew up her fists to cover her face as the three approached, and she was just about to throw the knife at the boy on her left when the dog decided to act.

Giving a low, feral growl, the dog launched itself from its position on the ground and wrapped its massive jaw around the middle boy's arm, dragging the boy down to the ground as if he was a rag doll. The two friends spun around to see their friend screaming and yelling in pain underneath the behemoth dog, giving Harry enough of a distraction that she was able to run up to the boy on her right and punch him right in neck.

The boy stumbled and turned to look at Harry, a hurt and confused look on his face. Harry followed up her hit with a punch right in his nose, causing the boy to grunt in pain. The boy the dog was assaulting was still hollering on the ground, unable to get the beast off of his arm, and his only uninjured friend went to the his rescue.

Harry, not wanting the rescuing boy to hurt the dog, threw the knife at the boy. Her aim wasn't good, nor did she throw it with much strength, however the knife flew right past the boy's face, causing him to spin to look at Harry. Harry, realizing she was in-between two very pissed off fifteen year olds – one of whom was suffering from a bloody nose she had given him – decided that it might be in her best interest to run away.

Sprinting towards the dog, she grabbed a handful of its fur and tugged.

"Come along dog," she told it, looking quickly behind her to see the now three boys – the nose-bleeder, the uninjured one, and the one who had just recovered from the kick to the groin – run after her.

The dog, hearing the command in Harry's voice, let go of its victim's arm, leaving behind a bloody, mangled arm for its victim.

Harry and the dog ran at full speed out the opposite end of the alleyway, breaking out into the rest of civilization. Knowing that she didn't exit on the same street she had entered, Harry quickly turned so that she was heading in the same direction she had been in before entering the alley. Harry and the dog continued to run as they dodged the people on the streets in order to get away from the psychotic teenage boys who were out for revenge.

Harry continued running, not feeling safe to stop until she was outside of the Leaky Cauldron. Sliding to a stop right outside the entrance to the inn, Harry turned around to watch the dog lumber up next to her, almost bear-like in its movements, before it stopped right next to her.

"Good job," she said as she ruffled the fur on top of the dog's head. She was out of breath and had a stitch in her side, but it wasn't anything she wasn't used to. The dog panted heavily, its tongue lolled out the side of its open mouth, its tail wagging happily at the praise.

Harry glanced up and down the street to make sure that they had finally lost the pack of boys – after a minute of silent streets, Harry let her shoulders relax.

"Did those fuckers hurt you?" she asked as she got down on her knees in order to inspect the dog. The dog sat down, still panting, its tail continuing its wagging on the ground.

Harry's hands roved over the dog's body, checking to see they hadn't broken any of its bones or caused it to start bleeding. A cursory glance between the dog's legs showed Harry that the dog was a boy, which was nice to know.

"I see they didn't get you too badly," Harry finally assessed, getting back up to her feet. "Actually, I think you ended up doing more damage to them than they did to you."

Harry pointed at the dog's teeth, which were still stained with the blood from his victim's arm. Harry gave an evil smirk.

"That was pretty awesome, by the way," she told him.

The dog barked in response, a deep booming bark that caught Harry by surprise. The dog continued to bark, and Harry realized quickly that they were happy barks, which only made the dog standing up on its hind-legs and placing its front paws on Harry's shoulders all the funnier.

Harry started to laugh as the dog continued his jubilant celebration – barking happily, tail wagging, feet trying to keep his body upright.

Harry's laugh was cut short, though, when the dog started to lick her face. A giant, blood stained tongue started to lick almost every inch of her face, and Harry clamped her mouth and eyes shut in order to avoid the dog's drool entering her body.

The last thing she needed was to contract some sort of muggle disease because of blood contamination from the dog.

"ACK, okay boy, not the face," Harry told him as she pried his paws off her shoulders.

The dog sat down once all his paws were back on the ground; his tail still wagged happily though he did look a bit embarrassed by his actions.

Harry scowled at him before wiping her face off on the inside of her shirt. Once that was done, she took off her drool-covered glasses and cleaned them off on her shirt as well. Finally, once her face was clear of the dog drool and blood, she spat on the ground a few times just to be sure she didn't ingest anything on accident.

She remembered the few times Fang, Hagrid's dog, had licked her face to the point where she got drool in her mouth – it was never a fun experience.

Harry bent down and checked the dog for a collar, frowning when she didn't feel one.

"Do you not have a home either?" she asked absentmindedly, stroking the dog's head as she continued trying to look for some form of identification on the dog's body.

At her question the dog began to whimper, causing Harry to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"Well, I guess you can stay with me tonight," Harry said, getting back up. She would need to make sure Tom was okay with it, but she highly doubted he would tell her no.

Tom allows banshees and vampires and all manner of beasts into his pub – Harry highly doubted he would say no to a dog.

"Wait here a second," Harry told the dog before walking into the Cauldron.

Tom was luckily at the bar when she entered, and Harry walked over to him, a semblance of a plan already forming in her mind.

"Hey Tom," she greeted as she approached him.

"'lo Harry," Tom greeted back, "have a good birthday?"

"It's been good so far," Harry confessed with a nod, "I've actually stumbled across a stray dog who was being harassed by a couple of muggle teens. Is it okay if the dog stays with me tonight? He doesn't have a collar and he's pretty banged up – I don't think he'll last the night if he stays on the streets."

Tom contemplated her request as he cleaned out a glass mug.

"What are you going to do with the dog after tonight? Are you planning on keeping it?" he asked in a wary voice.

"If they allowed students to have dogs at Hogwarts I might have considered keeping him," Harry confessed, "but they don't and I'm not entirely sure how well Hedwig will get along with a dog to be honest."

Hedwig was Harry's snowy owl – a wonderful companion and incredibly territorial when it came to Harry.

"Well, Hedwig is a smart owl – probably wouldn't get into too many fights with a dog," Tom said with a laugh.

"Merlin I'd hope not," Harry agreed.

Tom set the now clean glass down on the counter, still contemplating Harry's request.

"I'll pay extra for the dog to stay with me tonight," Harry finally declared, rolling her eyes that she would have to resort to that tactic.

"Alright," Tom finally allowed, "only for tonight, though. I'm also guessing you'll want something to give the dog to eat?"

"He's skinny enough that I'm sure he'll be happy to eat any scraps you have. But yeah, he'll be needing food," Harry answered, thinking about how easy it was to feel the dog's ribs and spine during her inspection.

"Okay then, the dog can stay," Tom said, getting back to work.

"Thank you so much," Harry told him, gratitude clear in her voice.

"Yeah, well, happy birthday kiddo," he responded with a sly smile.

Harry smiled back before heading outside to get the dog. It was waiting patiently for her, sitting down and staring up at the sign for the Leaky Cauldron. The dog looked scared, which would have been weird had she not seen Fang give the same look a dozen or more times.

"Come on boy, you can stay with me," Harry told the dog, holding out her hand as if it would calm down the dog.

The dog looked between her and the sign, whimpering pitifully as he did.

"No one is going to harm you," Harry said, rolling her eyes. If the dog kept acting like this she might just call it quits on the whole thing.

The dog must have sensed her sincerity because the next moment he was on all fours, wagging his tail and waiting for Harry to open the door for him.

"There we go," Harry whispered under her breath, opening the door for the dog to walk through first.

The two entered the bar, Harry walking confidently over towards the stairs leading up to the rooms with the dog striding next to her.

"Merlin, Potter!" Tom exclaimed at the sight of Harry and the dog, causing the entire pub to look in their direction. "Are you sure that thing is a dog?"

Harry stalled at Tom's question and she could see the dog was starting to go into a defensive stance – hackles raised, shoulders tense, tail still.

"Well, yeah, what else would he be? A bear?" Harry asked, looking at Tom like he was an idiot.

"Child, that thing looks like the grim!" Tom exclaimed once more, causing fearful whispers to break out from the other patrons.

Harry's face scrunched up in thought as she looked at the dog once more.

"What's the grim?" Harry asked, deeming the dog to be just a dog and looking back up at the barkeep.

"It's an omen of death!" Tom explained, walking out from behind the bar and over to Harry as if he was planning on shielding her from the dog.

Harry looked between Tom, who looked scared beyond belief, and the dog, who looked amused at the whole situation, his tail wagging happily once more.

"Right," Harry said, drawing out the word to show her disbelief. "Well then, I'll just take the omen of death and give him a bath."

And without waiting for a response, Harry walked right up the stairs, the dog following her quickly.

"Should I just start calling you Omen just for the hell of it?" Harry asked as she opened up the door for her room. The dog sneezed, which Harry took for a 'no. '

"Yeah, that's a terrible name," Harry agreed, letting the dog enter the room first.

Her room was small, a four-poster bed in the middle, a dresser next to the door, a small fireplace across from the bed, and a wall of widows opposite of the door. Next to the bed was a door leading to the bathroom, which is where Harry headed to once inside the room.

"Come on, boy, let's clean you up," Harry said as she filled the yellow bathtub. The dog hopped right into the bath without any prodding from Harry and he wasted no time in getting himself completely wet.

Harry watched his interaction with the water and decided that either the dog just really loved water or he was extremely well trained. And if his case was the latter, then he must have an owner.

So where were they?

After ten minutes of messing around in the tub, the dog hopped out of the now dark, murky water and into the towel Harry held up for him. Harry was about to start patting him dry when the dog decided it would be a good idea to shake all the water off of his body while he was standing right next to Harry.

Water flew off the dog and onto the surrounding area – which mainly consisted of Harry, who held her hands up to shield her face from the dog-water. Harry stood still, drenched in water, and tried not to get too annoyed at the now happily smiling dog.

A knock on the door interrupted her silent fuming. Harry, with a growing smirk on her face, tossed the now damp towel onto the dog's head before leaving the bathroom.

"Bloody prick," Harry said under her breath.

She opened the door to see Tom with a tray of food; one plate had a nice meal of mashed potatoes and chicken on it, the other plate had a pile of bones and left over bits of chicken that no one would eat.

Harry really hoped her food was the former plate.

"Still thinking about owning a dog?" Tom asked one he saw Harry drenched in bath water.

Harry stared at Tom, unamused.

"Thanks for the food," Harry responded, grabbing hold of the tray. She heard the dog's paws clack against the wooden floor as he came back into the room, making a bee-line towards Harry and the food.

Harry held a leg out in order to stop the wet dog from coming closer to the food, while Tom gave a tight smile.

"I guess it isn't the grim, then," he said. The dog looked up at Tom, his eyes covered by his wet fur, his tongue out as he panted happily.

"What he is, is an arsehole," Harry replied, still annoyed over her state of dampness thanks to the dog.

Tom gave her a stern look, no doubt in reprimand for her language. Harry rolled her eyes as she placed the tray down on her dresser and out of the dog's reach.

"Well, have a good rest of your birthday," Tom said in way of goodbye.

"Thanks," Harry replied as he departed.

She closed the door once he was walking down the stairs and turned around to see the still wet dog rolling around on her bed.

"You son of a bitch," she said, giving a heavy sigh as she turned to the food. The dog continued to roll around on the bed and it gave a happy bark in response.

"I probably shouldn't give you anything to eat," Harry said as she placed his plate of bones and meat on the ground.

The dog wasted no time in launching itself off the bed and over towards his plate of food. Harry, with her plate in hand, walked over to her bed and stripped it of the now wet comforter. She sat in the middle of the bed, the wet blankets on the floor, and she ate her dinner.

She didn't know what she was going to do with the dog. He would obviously stay with her through the night and then Harry would have to take it to an animal shelter of some sort. She already had a couple in mind and as she ate she narrowed down the list of good shelters that she would feel comfortable leaving the dog in. She finally decided upon a shelter in the West End, which she had remembered hearing was a good shelter that treated all its strays with love and attention.

Once finished with her food, Harry put her plate in front of the dog so he could lick the plate clean for her. Patting the dog on the head as he finished licking her plate, Harry decided that it would be a good idea to spend the rest of the night breaking in her new Broomstick Servicing Kit.

Grabbing the Kit and her prized Nimbus 2000, Harry plopped herself on the bed and delved right into the world of broomstick maintenance and the smell of broom polish. She was so enraptured by the book that came with the Kit that Harry almost didn't notice the dog getting back up on the bed with her so he could lay down right next to her, his face watching Harry as his tail wagged contently.

Harry eyed the dog for a brief second before going back to her book, her left hand reaching out to scratch the dog behind his ears.

By three in the morning, the dog was fully asleep, Harry had polished her broomstick to the point that it was shining with excess polish, and Hedwig was still not back from her hunt. Suppressing a yawn, Harry put away all the items of her Kit back into their proper places before placing the Kit and her broom down on the ground, right next to the still wet comforter.

Harry turned off the lights and made her way back to the bed. She lay down with her head on the pillow and her left hand on top of the dog's head. As soon as Harry closed her eyes, she was asleep.

When Harry woke up she immediately knew something was different.

For one thing, she was sleeping under a very dry comforter. Harry's eyes snapped open at the realization, and as she pushed herself up into sitting position her green eyes darted around the room to check for signs of intrusion.

She noticed that the door was closed, but not locked like it had been when she went to sleep. Harry's heartbeat quickened and she mentally checked to make sure she hadn't been assaulted during the night. Coming back with no lingering pain, and realizing that her magic hadn't detected a threat to her person while she had slept like it normally did, Harry started to take deep breaths to calm herself down.

Harry threw the covers off of her as she got out of bed, looking over at her dresser to find the Broomstick Kit was placed on top, with her broom leaning against the dresser. She ran a hand through her hair, not understanding what had happened while she had slept.

It took her a while to realize what the biggest difference was: the dog was no longer in the room with her.

Harry checked under the bed and the bathroom for the dog, but he wasn't in either place. Confused and anxious, Harry left her room and went to see Tom at the bar.

"Mornin' Harry," Tom greeted her with a cheery smile that fell once he saw Harry's face.

"What's the matter?" he asked concerned.

"Have you seen the dog anywhere?" Harry asked, once more running her hand through her hair.

Tom's eyes narrowed in thought before he shook his head.

"No. Why? What's happened?" he asked looking intently at Harry.

"Uh," Harry began, embarrassed, "he's disappeared."

Tom stared silently at Harry after her confession. Finally, after what had seemed like minutes, Tom gave a deep sigh before picking up a glass and filling it was cider.

"I told you that thing was a grim," he told her before taking a sip of his drink. "What do you want for your last breakfast? Because you're gonna be dead come tomorrow."

Harry rolled her eyes at Tom's dramatics but she couldn't help the wave of fear that crashed over her.

And months later – after surviving the day at the Cauldron and going off to Hogwarts with her friends, after facing dementors and successfully making a patronus, after the Nimbus and the Firebolt and the quidditch wins, after learning about how Sirius Black, the mass murderer, was her godfather, after all her anger at him over him betraying her father and Neville's parents, after the realization that he was innocent when Professor Lupin and Sirius explained that the real traitor had been Pettigrew, Ron's rat, after the time travel with Hermione and saving Sirius from a fate worse than death – Harry laid in bed, awake, and remembered the dog she took care of.

The dog who just so happened to have been her godfather.

It had been for the best that Sirius hadn't introduced himself to Harry at the time – after all, Harry knew she would have reacted badly to a dog suddenly turning into a strange man, no matter who the man happened to be. She still smiled, though, at the thought that Sirius had taken the time to tuck her into bed before he left.

It was nice to know that she now had a guardian who loved her and actually wanted to take care of her.

The Weasleys were great, but Sirius was better.

* * *

Author's Note:

This is the first of many one-shots that tie-in with my story "Red Like Roses." All one-shots will cover events that are glazed over in the other story - so they can be about Harry's life at Hogwarts, or her watching movies with Steve, or Steve and Tony playing Scrabble, basically anything that isn't important to the overall narrative of "Red Like Roses" can be written as a one-shot here.

I will be taking suggestion of prompts from readers who want to know more about past events or from people who just want to see events that I haven't even thought of yet. The prompts can involve anyone from "Red Like Roses" and can be about anything within reason.

The title "I May Fall" is from the song by Jeff Williams of the same name; like with the song "Red Like Roses Part 2," I highly suggests you give "I May Fall" a listen because it's amazing. I do not own the song or the characters in this story.

Also, are Chia Pets a thing in the UK? I just thought it would be funny for Neville to get a Chia Pet for his birthday.

Hope TheNorwegianAuthor is happy with the outcome of her first prompt suggestion, and I hope everyone has a great Friday.


	2. The Ball

Author's Note:

More information down at the bottom.

Prompt 2 of 2 from TheNorwegianAuthor: write about Harry's Yule Ball

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"Tell me again why we had to leave the snowball fight?" Harry asked Hermione as they walked back up to the Gryffindor common room.

It was Christmas day, and fourteen year old Harry Potter eyed her friend, Hermione Granger, critically; Hermione looked focused, mumbling under her breath like she was about to sit for an exam. Harry was apprehensive, not understanding why they had to leave the Weasley boys and Neville when they were in the middle of their annual Christmas snowball fight.

"I need to get ready," Hermione told Harry, cutting herself off from her mumbling to-do list.

"And you need three hours to get ready?" Harry asked, looking in disbelief at Hermione.

She gave Harry her best glare, which caused Harry to smile.

"I know it takes you five seconds to get ready, but I need more time."

Hermione pointed at Harry's hair and then at her own bushy locks. Harry rolled her eyes at Hermione's dramatics. It took Harry so little time to prepare because there was nothing she could do about her hair. Her black hair was always messy: strands would stand up as if gravity wasn't an issue; locks would interweave on their own and would not come undone no matter how hard Harry tried; and even if she did try to brush her hair it would never straighten out. For convenience sake, Harry always had her hair in a bun – it was a messy bun that always came apart at the end of the day, but it was still able to hold her hair in place for the most part.

It was a good thing Harry didn't care about her appearance; otherwise she would always be trying to tame her hair.

Normally Hermione didn't care much about her appearance either; like Harry, Hermione would keep her brown, bushy hair in a frizzy bun and be done with it. However, tonight that look wouldn't do.

"It only takes me five seconds because I can't afford to keep buying replacement hairbrushes," Harry responded.

Harry and Hermione shared a look and they had to look away before they started to laugh. The first week of their first year, Lavender Brown thought it would be fun to give Harry a makeover. She had claimed that she could tame Harry's hair and had the hair products to prove it. By the end of the night, Lavender had three broken brushes, run out of hair product, and was angry and confused that Harry's hair looked as bad as when she had started; Harry had watched in amusement as Lavender stormed from their dorm room before she went to take a shower. Since then, Lavender had never tried to give Harry a makeover, and no one has lent Harry their hairbrush.

Harry ran a hand through her hair, which resulted in some strands of her hair to fall out of her bun. According to her godfather, Sirius Black, Harry had the Potter Hair, which had cursed her father, her grandfather, her great-grandfather, and all of the heirs of the Potter line for centuries. When told this fact, Harry thought Sirius had made it up, though she couldn't deny after looking at countless photographs of her father that she did, in fact, have his hair; whether her grandfather or great-grandfather had the same hair type was still unknown to Harry.

"It's not like you couldn't afford the hairbrushes if you needed them," Hermione said as they reached the seventh-floor landing.

"I know," Harry agreed as they headed towards the Fat Lady portrait, "but I'd rather spend my money on important things. Like broomstick polish, treacle tart, the knowledge that I have enough money in my vault that I theoretically don't have to work a day in my life and I'll still have financial security. You know, important things."

Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes and Harry couldn't contain her smirk.

"Fairy Lights," Hermione said instead, speaking to the Fat Lady. Harry noticed that the Fat Lady was hanging out with her friend, Violet, and that they both had full glasses of wine and an open box of chocolates between them.

"Too right you are," the Fat Lady replied as she popped a chocolate in her mouth, opening her portrait to reveal the Gryffindor common room.

The common room was a circular room with red walls, squashy red armchairs, tables, a roaring fireplace, and far too many students for it being Christmas day. Harry followed Hermione as she made her way past the other students and up the stairs to the girl dormitories.

"It's weird seeing everyone here," Harry remarked as they walked up the stairs.

Harry had stayed at Hogwarts during every Christmas break since her first year, and she was far too used to there being next to no one who stayed for the holiday. Granted, of the past three Christmases she had only been present for two of them – she had been petrified during the Christmas of her second year, though she had heard that there weren't that many students that year for Christmas either.

But this year the students had a reason to stay at Hogwarts during the break: Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year, meaning that Hogwarts was also hosting the Yule Ball.

Harry didn't see the appeal of the ball, which was one reason why she wasn't attending. She didn't like dancing, she didn't like wearing fancy dress robes, and she certainly didn't want to waste her time being forced into a crowded room with a bunch of hormonal teenagers listening to a band she didn't really care for.

Her refusal to go to the ball irked Ron, who still didn't have a date a week before Christmas and who still didn't have a date after he asked Harry if she wanted to go with him. Harry remembered asking why he didn't just sit it out with her, but after his grumbled response Harry understood: Ron wanted to go to the ball because everyone else would be there and he didn't want to miss the experience.

Harry couldn't fault Ron for that – he had already made so many of his Christmas decisions based on whether Harry was alone or not, it was okay for him to think of his own wants for once. Besides, Harry didn't really want him to sit out on the Ball – she needed everyone to attend the dance if her plan was to work.

She had still felt guilty over refusing to be Ron's date, and so had decided to set him up with someone he would get along with. So Harry asked Ginny's friend, Luna Lovegood, a third year Ravenclaw, if she wanted to go to the dance.

Ginny had introduced Harry to Luna when Harry stayed with the Weasleys during the summer after her first year. Harry remembered thinking the girl was odd when they had first met, however the more time Harry spent around Luna and Ginny the more Harry grew to like the strange girl. When Luna and Ginny first attended Hogwarts, Harry would check in to make sure they were handling everything okay – which is partially the reason why she was petrified in the first place.

Even after Harry's second year, though, she would still take time to check in with Luna to make sure she was okay – Harry knew Luna was bullied by her peers because of her odd behavior. Luckily, Luna always seemed fine, so she and Harry would end up discussing nargles or wrackspurts or some other fantastical creature.

Luna was a friend – an odd friend, but a friend – so when Harry asked Luna if she wanted to go to the dance with Ron she did so because she knew that they would get along. At the very least, Ron would find her amusing and Luna would go off to do her own thing.

So Harry felt less guilty for turning Ron down after she got him a date with Luna.

"I'll meet you in Ginny's room," Hermione said as they past their own dorm room.

Harry watched Hermione slip into their room, no doubt so she could gather everything she needed to get ready for her date.

Harry continued down the hall to Ginny's dorm room, and entered without knocking. Ginny's dorm room was devoid of everyone except Ginny, who sat on her bed painting her fingernails.

Third years and below were not allowed to attend the Yule Ball unless they had a date, and since Ginny was the only Gryffindor third year to get a date to the ball, she was the only one staying for Christmas break.

"Hey, we missed you at the snowball fight. Where were you?" Harry asked as she plopped herself down on an empty bed.

Ginny looked up from her pink nail polish to stare at Harry.

"I was helping Luna make her dress for the dance," Ginny explained as she got back to work.

"Is it fantastic?" Harry asked, knowing what counted as 'fantastic' for Luna's tastes.

"It's something," Ginny replied as she inspected her nails, "Ron will certainly be surprised."

"Are you nervous for your own date?" Harry asked teasingly.

Ginny looked at Harry with wide eyes, causing Harry to smirk.

"This is the fifth time I've painted my nails – I still don't think it's the right color," she replied, nodding over to her bedside table where Harry saw several different bottles of nail polish strewn across the top.

Harry could see that Ginny had already painted her nails green, blue, red, and purple.

"How did the purple look?" Harry asked as she reached over for the green polish.

"It looked good until I compared it to my dress robes," Ginny replied, nodding over to where her dress robes hanged off of the four poster bed.

Like Ron's dress robes, Ginny's robes were hand-me-downs; unlike Ron's dress robes, though, Ginny's at least looked presentable. No lace, no ruffles, only a weird floral pattern that didn't go with the pastel pink and faded blue color of the dress.

"I'm sure Neville won't care what you look like," Harry told Ginny.

Ginny gave a moan that told Harry that Ginny highly doubted her sincerity.

"Seriously, do you know how happy Neville was that you asked him? He was fucking relieved," Harry continued, placing the nail polish back with its brethren.

Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Neville. First his name was put into the Goblet of Fire without his consent, and then he was chosen as the fourth competitor in a tournament designed for wizards three years his senior to compete in, then he had to face a dragon, and now he had to deal with fans who all wanted to go to the dance with him.

Poor Neville couldn't catch a break.

"It doesn't matter; he still only sees me as Ron's younger sister," Ginny moaned, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

Ginny has a massive crush on Neville, which had only escalated after he saved her life during her first year of school. Harry knew that Ginny had more of a crush on the idea of the boy-who-lived rather than on Neville himself, but until Ginny figured that out on her own there was nothing Harry could do about it.

Neville, as a person, had no similarities with the public's perceived boy-who-lived persona except for the fact that they were both brave.

"Well, maybe after tonight he'll see you as Ginny."

Harry tried to comfort the third year, but all she could think about was '_Or maybe you'll finally see Neville as a person and you won't be so shy around him anymore.'_

Before Ginny could respond, Hermione barged into the room, her face obscured by the amount of things she was holding.

"Merlin, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed as she got up to help her friend. Ginny also got up to help, shaking her hands to dry her nail polish, however Hermione waved them off.

"I'm fine," a muffled voice called out behind the mountain of stuff as Hermione maneuvered herself into Ginny's bathroom.

Harry watched Hermione close the bathroom door behind her before turning to look at Ginny.

"She's mental," Harry stated, using Ron's favorite adjective to describe Hermione.

Ginny shrugged in response, blowing air onto her nails to dry them faster.

The door to the bathroom opened so fast that Harry felt a wave of air hit her from the door.

"Can you two help me with my hair?" Hermione asked as she started to brush it out.

Every time Hermione ran the brush through her hair, it became frizzier.

Harry looked at Ginny with wide eyes.

"Sure," Harry said hesitantly as she walked into the bathroom with Hermione.

"Alright," Ginny replied, far more happily than Harry had.

Harry surveyed the items that Hermione had brought with her. Hanging with the shower curtains was Hermione's dress robes, a nice periwinkle-blue robe that looked airy. The toilet seat was covered and stacked upon it were books. Around the sink were bottles and jars of different beauty products.

Harry cringed – it was hard being a girl.

"What's up with all the books?" Ginny asked as she eyed the stack with a tilted head.

"They're all books that deal with beautification spells," Hermione explained as she placed the brush next to the hair products. "Hopefully one of them has a spell that will help control my hair."

"Do you really think that is going to be necessary?" Harry asked as she picked up a random jar from the sink.

The jar read "Wanda Witches Frizz Control" and Harry opened it up to see a dark-green glob of something. Harry gave it a quick sniff and immediately regretted the decision when a wave of hard, murky, foul smelling something assaulted her nose.

"Oh what the fuck – "

"Language Harry," Hermione cut in.

"– is this shit?" Harry finished her question, her face scrunched up as she held up the product.

Hermione glared at Harry as she took the jar from her hands.

"It's for my hair," Hermione said as she placed it next to the other jars on the sink.

"It smells like a fucking sewer," Harry complained, wiping her nose for emphasis.

Hermione smacked Harry on the back of her head.

"Ow," Harry exclaimed, rubbing the abused spot on her head.

"Language," Hermione admonished, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

"Alright, mother," she said.

Harry couldn't help when she cursed. People don't censor themselves on the streets, so Harry, for a time, grew up hearing and using a lot of bad language. Now that she was around adults who cared about children cursing, and Hermione, Harry was constantly told to watch her language. She has gotten better about censoring herself, however she was friends with Ron, so she slipped up sometimes.

After all, Ron cursed just as much as she did.

Hermione stared at Harry, unimpressed, before turning back to her hair.

"Alright, let's start," Hermione declared as she put her hair into a ponytail.

It took them two hours to tame Hermione's hair. Harry didn't understand how that was possible. After three attempts at styling Hermione's hair into the elegant knot she had envisioned the three girls stepped back to admire their work.

"Wow," Ginny stated with wide eyes as she checked out Hermione's hair.

"What Ginny said," Harry agreed, nodding over to Ginny.

Harry held her hands out and away from her body; she did not want to get any of the hair products smeared on her hands onto her shirt.

"Do you think it's going to stay?" Hermione asked. She turned her head from side to side so she could see herself in the mirror; Hermione bit her lip out of worry.

"It better," Harry replied, a clear warning in her voice. She did not want to go through this Hell for a second time.

"Hold on, let me look to see if there is a spell," Hermione declared as she dived for the books, her hair waving with her movements.

Harry and Ginny both moved to protect Hermione's hair like they were trying to catch a glass figurine before it crashed onto the ground.

"Let's see," Hermione said under her breath as she flipped through the biggest book in her pile.

With her hair no longer in danger of coming undone, Harry and Ginny looked at each other in relief.

"Well, if you're good, I'm going to get my hair ready," Ginny told Hermione.

Hermione absent-mindedly nodded at Ginny's words as she continued to look through the book.

"Do you want to help me?" Ginny asked Harry with a smirk.

"That depends – what's in it for me?" Harry asked, still holding her hands in a manner so she wouldn't contaminate the rest of her body with the hair product.

"You get to see me look pretty," Ginny replied. Harry was about to decline but stopped when she saw Ginny with her 'puppy dog eyes.'

"Fine," Harry declared, drawing out the word to show her aversion to the idea. "Just know that I hate both of you."

Luckily for Harry, styling Ginny's hair took fifteen minutes. There was a major difference between Hermione's bushy brown mane and Ginny's straight red hair – it was that Ginny's hair was far easier to manipulate and control.

Ginny decided on a simple braid for her hair, and it would have taken less time to style it had Harry been competent with any hair style that wasn't a bun or a ponytail.

Suffice to say, Harry had to start over a few times.

Finally, twenty minutes before the Yule Ball started, Ginny was dressed in her blue and pink dress robes, her hair in a braid, and her nails painted a subtle pink.

"How do I look?" she asked as she twirled in front of her mirror.

"You look like you," Harry answered.

For the millionth time that night, Harry was so happy that she decided not to go to the ball.

Ginny stopped spinning and looked at herself in the mirror, a worried expression on her face.

"Do you think Neville will like it?" she asked self-consciously.

"Yes," Harry answered, her annoyance coming out in her tone.

"Are you – "

"Come on, let's find out," Harry interrupted Ginny before she could finish her thought.

Harry looped her arm with Ginny's and pulled her towards the door.

"Hermione, I'm dragging Ginny down to her date – are you ready or do you still want to surprise everyone?" Harry yelled out, causing her friends to squeak in protest.

"Harry, no I'm not ready," Ginny moaned as she tried to get out of Harry's hold.

"I'M NOT READY YET!" Hermione yelled from the bathroom, a note of hysteria in her voice.

"Okay," Harry called out to Hermione before putting her arm around Ginny's shoulders.

"You look great, don't worry about it," Harry told Ginny as she led her young friend out of the room.

"Remember, you are a strong, independent, young woman who has no need for a man," Harry reminded Ginny as they walked down the stairs and into the crowded common room.

"Now, let's find that man you don't need," Harry continued as the two scanned the room for Neville.

Harry – who was taller than Ginny by a few inches – spotted Neville and Ron first.

"Merlin, Ron, did you get into a fight with a niffler?" Harry asked as she dragged Ginny over to the two boys.

Ron gave Harry a sour look, and Harry couldn't really blame him. Ron's dress robes had always looked like a dress – a really bad, lacey, ruffle-y dress. Ron must have done something to it because now it still looked like a dress, but it was far less lacey and had no ruffs, only frayed edges where the ruffles and lace used to be.

"I tried to use a Severing Charm on it," Ron said, dejected.

"Well, don't worry, Luna won't mind," Harry assured Ron, who looked only mildly better at Harry's declaration.

Harry glanced over to Neville and Ginny, who had both been far too quiet, only to see them both red faced and awkward looking.

"Speaking of Luna," Harry continued, fixing Ron her meanest glare, "if you make her cry, I will break your face."

"Merlin, Harry," Ron stated horrified, "no need to bloody be all 'protective mother' over the girl."

"Well, you'll understand why when you meet her," Harry said.

"Why is she ugly or something?" Ron asked, confused.

"RON!" Harry, Ginny, and Neville all called out at once, which at least helped ease the tension between Neville and Ginny.

"What? You said she wasn't ugly," Ron defended himself.

Harry rolled her eyes.

"She's not ugly – she's just odd. You'll understand what I mean when you start talking to her," Harry told him.

Ron did not look convinced and Harry was beginning to question whether it was a good idea to pair Ron with Luna.

"Anyway, she'll meet you in the Great Hall. Now, I need to go force Hermione out of the bathroom," Harry said as she made to leave.

"Who is Hermione going with?" Ron asked.

Ever since Hermione said she had a date for the dance, Ron has wanted to know who it is.

"You'll find out soon, you prick," Harry told him.

Ron flipped her off in response, causing the two of them to break out into smirks.

Harry left the three, weaving between and dodging random Gryffindors as they waited for their dates. Taking the stairs three at a time, she raced up to the girl dormitories and made her way back to Ginny's room.

"Hermione, what's the problem?" she asked as she walked through the doors.

Harry stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw her friend.

Hermione was standing in the center of the room, looking into Ginny's full-length mirror; she was biting her bottom lip as she looked at her reflection. Hermione looked beautiful. Her blue dress robes fit her body perfectly, and her hair was sleek and shiny and looked like it wasn't in danger of coming undone from the knot any time soon. She stood straight and powerful, and had it not been for her biting her lip with her recently straightened teeth Harry wouldn't have known Hermione was nervous.

"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed as she walked up behind Hermione. "Who are you and what have you done to Hermione Granger?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder and at Harry, no longer biting her lower lip.

"I know, I look terrible," Hermione said, and Harry was worried to hear the note of hysteria in her voice.

"Are you – are you fucking kidding me?" Harry asked, astounded by Hermione's doubt. "You look like a fucking goddess! Move over Athena, move over Freyja – bloody fucking hell."

"Language Harry," Hermione chided, though it wasn't as harsh an admonishment as it had been earlier.

"No, Hermione, I'll say whatever I want. And you look fucking fantastic," Harry told her sincerely.

Hermione blushed red at Harry's compliment, and Harry could see Hermione straighten up at the praise.

"Do you think Viktor will like it?" Hermione asked as she straightened her robe out of anxiety.

Viktor was of course Viktor Krum, the famous seeker. Harry and Ginny both knew that Hermione was going out with Krum and they had both been sworn to secrecy from Hermione.

"Fuck what he thinks," Harry told her, "fuck what anyone thinks. You look amazing. More than amazing. And if you know you look stunning, then Krum and everyone else will know it too. So yes – Krum will love you."

Hermione smiled at Harry's pep talk, and Harry smiled back.

"Harry, what's the real reason you aren't going to the Yule Ball?" Hermione suddenly asked, catching Harry off-guard.

"Well, it's obviously because you are going to steal the show tonight and I would never be able to compare to your amazing beauty. I mean, seriously, brains _and_ beauty. Leave some superlatives for the rest of us, yeah?"

Harry watched Hermione to see if she bought her lie; Harry knew that she wouldn't, however all she needed was for Hermione to be too distracted by her praise to call Harry out on her bullshit.

The truth was that Harry had a theory that she needed to explore. She had promised Neville back when his name first came out of the Goblet that she would find the person responsible for putting his name into the competition. Now, months later, Harry had a suspect that she needed to check out. To do that, she needed to investigate his office.

And what better opportunity would she have to investigate a teacher's office than when everyone is down at the ball, including said professor?

Hermione stared pointedly at Harry.

"It's true," Harry tried to say, but even she could hear the lie.

Hermione sighed, but didn't press Harry for information. Harry and Hermione had been friends for so long that Hermione no longer questioned Harry about her motives.

It just wasn't worth it.

"I need to go," Hermione declared after looking at her watch.

"Well, go then," Harry said, shooing her from the room. "Remember, if you go all the way make sure he wears a condom."

"HARRY!" Hermione yelled out in shock.

"HERMIONE," Harry called back, "you are not allowed to get pregnant yet, you are way too young."

Hermione slapped Harry arm, causing Harry to laugh. Hermione, unable to glare at Harry, started to laugh as well.

"You're not helping," Hermione finally said once she got her laughter under control.

"I'm not meant to help," Harry replied, cheekily. "Go get 'em tiger."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry before giving Harry a slight smile. They stopped walking at the bottom of the stairs, and Hermione gave Harry a quick hug, surprising Harry.

"Thanks for everything," Hermione said to Harry as they pulled out of the hug.

"Yeah, well, no problem," Harry replied as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Whatever you're planning – be careful," Hermione told her, worry and sincerity in her voice.

Harry, not trusting herself to speak, nodded at Hermione's request.

Hermione stared at Harry one last time before straightening her shoulders and striding confidently out of the now deserted common room.

Harry watched the portrait close over Hermione, and she waited a few seconds before she bolted back up the stairs and into her own room.

Her dorm room was deserted, all her roommates either at the ball or back at their own homes for Christmas. Wasting no time, Harry opened the trunk and pulled out her invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map.

Launching herself down on her bed, Harry grabbed her yew wand and tapped it against the map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she intoned, watching as the map came to life in front of her eyes.

Harry twirled her wand in her hand as she scanned the map.

Well, she told everyone that it was her wand. In actuality, it was just a hollow stick of yew that she used to channel her magic through – her real magic came from her holly and elder bracelets on her right and left wrists respectively.

Her eyes focused on the Great Hall and the Entrance Hall, both of which were filled to the brim with all the names of the attendees to the ball. It was so full that Harry could not discern one name from the others, though she could see Hermione's little dot as it made its way from the seventh floor down to the main hall.

She could see a few more names that were making their way down to the dance, but Harry ignored them. She was more focused on a certain office on the second floor.

Her target was the defense against the dark arts office, located on the second floor and currently being used by Professor Moody.

Through a long period of process of elimination, Harry finally dwindled down all the likely suspects to one person; she was certain that Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was the one to have put Neville's name into the Goblet of Fire.

It was difficult for Harry to even suspect that it was Professor Moody who had put Neville's name into the Goblet, however the more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

For one thing, he was far too invested in Neville's well-being. When Neville knew that the first task was dragons he told Cedric Diggory, a seventh year Hufflepuff and Hogwart's champion, about it. Moody had overheard Neville and had then brainstormed with him how he was going to get past his dragon. When Neville told Harry about his conversation with Moody, warning flags immediately went up in Harry's mind.

It was one thing for a teacher to tell Neville about the task, like Hagrid had when he showed Neville the dragons. It was a different thing entirely for a teacher to actively tell a competitor about how to complete a task, like Moody did with Neville.

And granted it didn't end up being a very good plan – summoning a shield from one of the statues in the school in order to protect Neville while facing the dragon might not have been the best way to complete the task – however the success of the plan was not a factor in this case.

The fact remains that Moody had actively helped Neville, which went against the rules of the competition and was something that even the teachers who knew Neville for years did not do.

This was primarily the reason Harry suspected Mad-Eye. She would have loved to blame it all on Snape, like she normally did, but she knew he wasn't insane enough to pull something like this under Dumbledore's nose. Snape might hate Neville, but he hates Harry more, and if he had the choice he would no doubt have placed Harry's name into the Goblet, not Neville's.

And while Sirius believed that Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, was the one to blame, Harry had to disagree. She had interacted with the ex-death eater only a few times, but even she could see the man was a coward and incompetent. There was no way he could confuse the Goblet well enough that it would go against its nature and spit out a fourth name; there was also no way he would have the gall to do it if he could.

But Harry was sure Moody could. It apparently required dark magic to confuse the Goblet, and Moody already showed that he was capable of dark magic. After all, the first day of her defense against the dark arts class had Moody casting the imperius curse on her and the other fourth year students. And considering that he was able to cast the curse repeatedly, without fail, for close to an hour, Harry was sure Moody had the magical ability to confuse the Goblet.

Though some nights Harry questioned if Moody was going easy on everyone or if he was just really weak; Harry had been able to throw off his imperius curse by her fourth try – was that enough to prove that he was casting weak curses or was it just a testament to Harry's personal ability? Some nights, she believed it to be the former, other nights she believed the latter.

Whatever the case, Harry knew that it was Moody who put Neville's name into the cup, but she needed evidence first.

Which is where his office came in.

Harry groaned when her eyes spotted his office. There, off to the side of the room, was a small dot labeled as 'Alastor Moody.'

He must not have left for the ball yet.

So Harry waited and watched the dot for movement, but after ten minutes of no movement from the dot, Harry was starting to get nervous. Normally the dots on the map move, even if the person was sitting in one spot there was always some form of movement from the dot to signify that the person was awake.

That meant Moody was asleep, or he was dead – neither of which were good for her purpose.

Harry got off her bed, the map and her yew stick in her right hand, her invisibility cloak in her left. She gave the map one more look to make sure everyone else was either in their common rooms or at the Yule Ball before she stuffed her cloak into her pocket and left.

Harry walked the deserted halls with ease, glancing down at the map every so often to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted in her mission. She wasn't anywhere near another person, and she noted with surprise that she couldn't find Filch on the map, meaning that he must be in the Great Hall with the rest of the school.

Well, that was a bitter pill to swallow.

Harry stopped once she was outside Moody's office, and after a few deep breaths, knocked on the door.

No answer.

Harry tried again, this time louder.

No answer.

"Professor Moody? Can I talk to you?" Harry asked after knocking once more.

She waited for an answer that never came.

Harry checked the map once more and saw that the dot for Moody hadn't moved. Heart racing, Harry checked the door and was not surprised to find it locked.

Pulling out two bobby pins from her pocket, Harry got down on her knees and started to pick the lock. During the first summer she spent with the Weasleys, Fred and George thought it would be a good idea to teach Harry how to pick locks.

She's glad they did because the skill had come in handy a few times already.

Harry listened for the clicks from the lock, but after a while it became apparent that it locked through magical means. Sighing, Harry got back up to her feet.

Breathing deeply, Harry closed her eyes and started to envision an open door. She had done this several times while living on the street; envisioning a previously locked door as open always guaranteed that her magic would comply and open the door for her.

With the image in her mind, Harry tapped the doorknob with her wrist, causing a clicking sound from the lock. Smirking, Harry covered herself under her invisibility cloak and opened the door.

The first thing she noticed was that Moody wasn't there. There were no reactions to the open door, there was no Moody slumped over sleeping at his desk, or any other sign that he was there.

Harry stepped further into the office, and she noticed the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass off to the side. She gazed into the Foe-Glass and saw one shadowy face on the surface – Harry had no doubt that the face was Moody's. Harry had read about Foe-Glasses and she knew that since the face wasn't clear that she was in no danger at the present moment.

Resolving to keep an eye on the glass, Harry took off her invisibility cloak and stuffed it back into her pocket.

Harry began looking around the room, checking the map every so often just to see where Moody was according to her map. She was disappointed to find that many of the shelves and desks were devoid of anything incriminating. As she made her way around the room she noticed that the dot for Moody was originating from a trunk in the corner.

Curiosity taking over, Harry walked over to the trunk and began to study it. There were seven locks on the trunk all placed vertically, one on top of the other.

Sitting down in front of the trunk, Harry took the top lock and started to unlock it with the bobby pins.

She could have tried to search the office for the key, however Harry knew that Moody was paranoid enough that he wouldn't let the key to his trunk be anywhere except on his body at all times. Since Moody wasn't in the office, no matter what the map said, that meant the key wouldn't be there.

Harry opened the first lock to see it filled with spellbooks. Closing the compartment, Harry looked over her shoulder to check out the Foe-Glass; the face in the glass was still cloudy, so Harry continued with what she was doing.

The second, third, and fourth locks all revealed similar useless compartments – nothing of much note, mainly parchment, broken dark magic detectors, quills, an invisibility cloak, and several other items.

What Harry noticed, though, was that each compartment was bigger than the next, almost acting like a Russian Doll but in reverse. If her theory was correct, then, that meant the seventh compartment was the biggest.

Probably big enough to hide a body.

The seventh lock seemed harder to open, and after fiddling with it for a few minutes, Harry had to use her magic trick in order to open the lock.

Heart pounding in her chest, Harry opened the trunk to reveal a pit that descended down, as if it was ignoring the fact that it was located on the second floor and not on solid ground.

Harry looked down at the map once more and saw the dot labeled 'Alastor Moody' right next to her own dot labeled 'Rose Potter.'

Slowly, Harry peered over the edge of the trunk and had to contain a surprised gasp at what she saw.

It was Mad-Eye Moody, asleep. Except he looked different than Harry remembered. He was far too thin, chunks of hair were missing from his head, his magical eye was missing from its socket, and he was forced to sit down on the ground because he didn't have his artificial leg.

Harry couldn't help herself.

"HOLY SHIT," she exclaimed in surprise.

Well, there went her theory.

Moody was roused from his sleep, gazing up at Harry from the bottom of his pit. Harry could tell he was surprised by the fact that his good eye widened and his mouth dropped open.

"Hang on, I'm going to get you out," Harry finally said, getting her wits about her.

She looked over her shoulder, thinking she could just find a random piece of rope somewhere, but something out of the corner of her eye stopped her.

It was the Foe-Glass – the face was slowly becoming more focused.

Heart hammering in her chest, Harry looked down at her map to see a dot racing towards her position from stairwell – a dot labeled 'Bartemius Crouch'

"Mischief managed," Harry said in near panic. She had no idea what Mr. Crouch was doing racing up to the office – she didn't even know he was here for the ball.

Stuffing the map into her pocket with her invisibility cloak, Harry turned back to Moody.

"I'll get you – " Harry began, but was cut off by Moody.

"Go," he rasped out, waving his hand in the air as if to motion that Harry should leave.

It was sound advice; however Harry didn't know what would happen to Moody if she left. She knew, now, that Moody couldn't have possibly have put Neville's name into the Goblet of Fire. After all, the map never lies, meaning that the real Moody was locked away in a trunk.

So who was the one responsible?

"I'm not leaving you," Harry replied, resolving herself to the fact that she was going to get caught by whoever the real perpetrator was.

Her mind raced with the new information. Whoever the real perpetrator was, they were using polyjuice potion to impersonate Moody. That would explain why his eye and leg are missing along with the chunks of his hair. Harry had no doubt that if she had looked at the other compartments that she would find all the ingredients needed for a polyjuice potion – hell, maybe she'd even find one brewing in the sixth compartment.

Harry had no first-hand experience with polyjuice potion; during her second year she, Hermione, Neville, and Ron had planned to sneak into the Slytherin common room using polyjuice potion, however Harry had been petrified before the potion even finished. According to Ron, Hermione, and Neville, though, Harry hadn't missed much.

"Go, Potter."

Harry heard the rasping command from Moody, and she knew he had a point. If she stayed, she would no doubt get caught, and if she left now she'd have a chance of getting to Dumbledore and telling him what she saw.

Harry sprinted to the door, looking over briefly to see the face in the Foe-Glass. The face was of a man, early thirties with freckles and straw-colored hair. He was not Mr. Crouch but there were similarities.

Harry threw the door open, ready to sprint to Dumbledore, but before she could take another step she was blasted across the room.

Her body soared through the air and hit the wall opposite of the door. Her head banged against the wall, her back cracking at the impact. Harry's body bounced from the wall due to her momentum, causing her to crash onto the ground.

Harry was in pain; her back ached and she knew that it would bruise come the morning, and she feared that she might have a concussion.

Turning onto her stomach, Harry pushed herself onto her knees and looked over the desk she had flown over.

There, standing in the doorway, was Professor Moody.

Except Harry knew it couldn't be Moody because the real Moody was in the trunk.

"Potter," the fake Moody hissed out, his face showing his rage.

"Crouch," Harry replied, choosing the name because it was the last dot Harry had seen on the Marauder's Map.

Fake Moody growled at the name signaling to Harry that fake Moody's real name just happened to be Crouch.

Using the desk, Harry pushed herself into standing position and took out her wand from her pocket.

"So, what gave me away?" Crouch asked as he stalked into the office, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

Harry looked at fake Moody, then over to the Foe-Glass. The man in the Foe-Glass was fake Moody, and Harry knew his name was Crouch.

"Nothing gave you away, Barty Crouch, I was merely here on a hunch," Harry replied, taking a stab in the dark by saying his name was Barty.

The last dot on the map was 'Bartemius Crouch;' if it wasn't the Crouch she knew it was a different Barty Crouch.

"A hunch?" he asked through Moody's face, the fake leg making a pounding noise against the floor with each step.

"Oh yeah. My original hunch was that Moody was the one to put Neville's name into the Goblet of Fire. I was obviously wrong, but now I know who did," Harry said, trying to be nonchalant through her explanation.

Crouch glared at Harry, who glared right back. Harry had to get around Crouch to get out of the office, and she was confident that she could outrun the guy, considering the fact that he was currently operating with a fake leg.

The only problem was getting out of the room first.

"And who do you think did it?" Crouch asked as he approached Harry once more.

Harry raised her yew stick and pointed it at his face.

"Barty Crouch, Jr.," Harry declared, taking her line of thinking to its conclusion.

The facts are these: his dot is labeled 'Bartemius Crouch,' he reacted to the last name, and the Foe-Glass shows a male who looks similar enough to Mr. Crouch to suggest that he is his son.

Therefore: Barty Crouch Jr.

"In other words, you," Harry finished.

Her eyes never left Crouch's face, and she felt sick to see an evil smirk form on Moody's face.

Crouch started to clap condescendingly, causing Harry to scowl.

"Oh, good job, Potter," he said, clapping out the sarcasm. "You would make one hell of an auror, do you know that?"

Harry didn't take the bait: if she would make 'one hell of an auror' then she would have brought back up, then she would have known who Barty Crouch Jr. was before making the accusations, then she would have taken a shot and run to get an adult by now.

So much for having the makings of an auror.

"You must know – can't think of too many people who would impersonate a world-renown auror just so they could put a fourteen year old kid into a competition," Harry said, trying to get answers from the guy.

Crouch laughed Moody's laugh.

"Oh I could think of a few who would _kill_ for the opportunity that was gifted to me," Crouch said, looking at Harry as if he had already won.

It was not a look Harry liked.

"Right, because being put into a position where you have to impersonate someone in order to teach a bunch of kids is really the greatest gift anyone could ever get," Harry said sarcastically, her wand never wavering from fake Moody's face.

"That is only a small downside to my job," Crouch explained, his tone of voice taking on an eerily fanatic tone.

"Really? Sounds like a big downside," Harry responded, resisting the urge to take a step away from the once again advancing Moody.

Fake Moody gave a laugh.

"You have no idea what my plans are, do you? You have no idea how close I am to achieving the highest praise from my Master – I am so close to becoming His second in command _and I will not let some teenaged bint mess that up for me._"

A few things became apparent to Harry from Crouch's speech, the first being that Crouch needed to broaden his vocabulary because 'bint' is not the most offensive thing Harry has ever been called.

The second is that Crouch is a Death Eater. Harry came to this conclusion due to the fact that the only 'Master' any wizard has now a days is Voldemort.

Which means Harry is screwed because she is not prepared to handle a Death Eater at the present time.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry called out anyway, waving her stick in the correct movements.

Without a sound, Crouch waved Harry's disarming charm away with Moody's wand. With another wave of the wand, Harry felt her stick fly from her hands – Crouch had silently disarmed her.

He laughed maniacally as he plucked her wand from the air, twirling her yew wand around as if he had won.

"You might be the best in your year, Potter, but you are by no means a match for me," Crouch taunted.

Harry grimaced, knowing he was right. She did not have the same amount of experience with magic as Crouch has had. But that doesn't mean she didn't have a trick or two up her sleeves.

Crouch pointed his wand threateningly at Harry, and Harry put her hands up in surrender.

"I should kill you right now," Crouch said, as if he was discussing the weather.

"But people would notice that I'm missing," Harry countered, voice calm.

She wasn't afraid of death – his threat meant nothing to her.

"Yes, your idiotic friends would know," Crouch said under his breath.

Harry deemed the fact that her friends didn't know where she was as unimportant to the conversation at hand.

Harry didn't like the evil smirk that came across fake Moody's face at his realization.

"I might not be able to kill you, but I can make you scream," he stated.

Harry felt chills run down her spine at his declaration.

"Hey, Mad-Eye," Crouch called out to the bottom of the trunk, "I know you've been only hearing my voice for months now – how about I give you another voice to listen to. It'll be a _scream_."

If it wasn't for the fact that Harry's heart was pounding in her ears, or the fact that her hands were sweaty and her mind was racing with all the possible ways to escape, Harry would have rolled her eyes at Crouch's stupid fucking pun.

"CRUCIO!" Crouch yelled, pointing his wand directly at Harry's head.

Wasting no time, Harry waved her right hand and envisioned the large book on the desk to rise up and shield her from the spell.

Harry watched as her thought turned into reality, the book hovering in front of her face and being forced back a few inches at the impact from the spell.

Harry saw Crouch's look of shock on Moody's face.

Harry punched the air in front of her with her left hand and watched as the book went sailing towards fake Moody's face, hitting him directly in the nose.

So loved using her bracelets to conduct her magic.

At Crouch's distraction, Harry launched over the desk, kicked Crouch right in his chest as she vaulted over, and sprinted right to the door at dismount.

She had her hand on the doorknob and was right about to open the door when a spell whizzed past her head and hit the door.

Suddenly the doorknob was too hot to touch, and Harry let go, giving a shriek of surprise.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Crouch asked, annoyed and intrigued.

Harry turned around and punched the air with her right hand, envisioning Crouch flying across the room as she did so. However, her thoughts didn't come to fruition since Crouch waved her magic away with his wand.

Crouch laughed.

"Oh, I have never thought I would see a wandless witch before," he said, looking at her as if she was part of a freak show at the circus.

"Expelliarmus," Crouch exclaimed.

Harry's eyes widened in shock as she felt her wrists rise up towards Crouch on their own; she let out a pained scream as her wrists shot forward while her body stayed in place.

Harry fell to the ground, her shoulders dislocated.

"GAH!" Harry screamed as she landed on her left arm.

Crouch laughed at her pain.

"You know, I've only heard about your kind before," he told her, grabbing her right shoulder roughly with one hand and her right wrist with his other. "I have heard that there was once a time where wands weren't the go-to for magic casting."

He inspected her holly bracelet with a clinical eye before letting go of her wrist like it was something silly and not worth his time.

"Wands are obviously better," he said as he stood up, looking down at Harry with a smug look on fake Moody's face.

Harry tried to get up, but her arms were useless. This was not the first time she had dislocated her shoulders, however it was the first time that they had dislocated at the same time.

"You know, there are so many things I can do to you right now," Crouch continued.

He looked at her like she was his favorite meal, and Harry felt sick to her stomach at his hungry gaze.

"Maybe, when Lord Voldemort is back in power he will reward my loyalty by giving me you to be my plaything."

Harry wanted to throw up at his words.

"Until then," Crouch continued, pointing his wand right between Harry's eyes.

"Crucio!"

Harry screamed.

"Harry?" a voice called out.

Harry opened her eyes, and she really wished she hadn't. Everything hurt. Her back hurt, her shoulders hurt, her arms and legs and head and _everything_ hurt. She felt like she had run a marathon, and had done a million push-ups and sit-ups and had run up all of the stairs at Hogwarts and her body protested in pain at Harry's decision – a work out without the payoff, in other words.

"Harry, are you alright?" Neville asked as he walked up to Harry.

She was standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, the Fat Lady and her friend Violet were sleeping, which explains why Harry hadn't been yelled at for not saying the password immediately.

Her head hurt, pounding away behind her eyes like someone was hammering a nail into everything – eyes, brain, and skull. Her mouth was also dry and her throat hurt, as if it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.

She couldn't remember how it got that way.

"Oh, hi Neville," she said in a raspy voice, which surprised both Neville and herself.

"Harry, are you okay?" Neville asked again, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

Harry flinched at the contact, and she swatted Neville's hand away for no apparent reason.

"Yeah, I'm good," Harry said, though the more she thought about it the less she believed.

For one thing, she was sore – extremely sore. More sore than she had been after any Quidditch match or practice. More sore than when she had been living on the streets.

She didn't know why she was sore.

"Are you sure?" Neville asked, his face and voice showing his concern.

Harry looked at Neville, and she felt her heart break, but she didn't know why.

Maybe it was because Neville was a good friend – a good kid – and he didn't deserve to be in a competition where he had to face a dragon for his first and easiest task.

Maybe it was because Neville was sincere and honest and wanted the best for everyone and didn't deserve to have everyone's troubles placed onto his shoulders.

Voldemort already wanted him dead, no need to add her worries to his giant pile of 'things to worry about.'

"Yeah, I'm great," Harry said, still not sure why her voice was so raspy.

"Why aren't you at the party?" Harry asked, trying to turn her attention away from her and onto him.

She checked her pockets and noticed that she had her wand, the Marauder's Map, and her invisibility cloak on her person.

She didn't remember having any of those things when she saw Hermione off.

She didn't remember leaving the common room with Hermione when she left.

"Ron and I overheard Hagrid talking to Maxime in the garden," Neville began.

Maxime was the headmistress of Beauxbatons, Harry remembered that.

"After that, I didn't feel like staying around," Neville confessed with a shrug.

"So you left before you could give the opening dance?" Harry asked.

She remembered that fact too – what was it that she forgot?

She tried to sound more confused than worried, but it must have not worked because Neville looked concerned.

"Harry, it's almost eleven. What have you been up to?"

She didn't know – she couldn't remember. Last she remembered it had almost been eight.

"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked instead. She knew that she was freaking Neville out – the drained color from his face told her so.

"She's hanging out with Luna. To be honest, Ron wasn't that great of a dance partner," Neville explained, his eyes filled with worry and concern as he looked at her.

"Come on, let's take you to Dumbledore," Neville spoke up suddenly, causing Harry to physically recoil back.

"NO!" she said, a bit too loudly.

"Harry –"

"No, really, I'm fine. I was just out for a walk. It's fine. We don't need to tell anyone. It's fine. Everyone is still enjoying the ball, no need to interrupt them because you think I need to see Dumbledore. I'm fine."

Harry felt like crying, but she refused to do so. Crying was for the weak – she wasn't weak.

Neville looked at her, a mix of emotions on his face. He was concerned, and worried, and scared, and disappointed.

Harry refused to cry.

"Harry, I'm here for you if you ever need to talk," he told her, his tone having far more sincerity than Harry deserved.

"And I'm here for you," Harry replied, punching Neville lightly in the arm.

She gave him a smile, but even she could tell that it looked manic.

"Seriously Harry, if you need to talk to me I'll listen. You aren't the only one who is willing to be the listener in our friendship," Neville reassured her.

Harry nodded in understanding, hoping that he would drop the topic.

Harry would love to tell Neville what had happened.

That is, if she could remember it.

"You look like you could use some sleep," Neville told her, his voice tired and sad.

Harry nodded once more, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

She would be fine. She could figure out what had happened. There was no need to involve anyone else – especially not Neville, who had more pressing issues that he would have to deal with.

No, she could handle _this_.

Too bad she couldn't remember what _this_ was.

* * *

Author's Note:

I am still, and will forever more, be taking suggestions for one-shot prompts for this story. The more requests there are the more often this will update - unless I can think of a few myself.

Hope you all had a great weekend and I hope that TNA likes her second one-shot. Thanks for all the support of this story and I hope you all have a great Monday.


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